


20: Future Perfect

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Series: 0-10-20 [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Community: wordsontongue, Established Relationship, Future Tense, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-29
Updated: 2009-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sean arrives at the pub, he'll find Viggo is late again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	20: Future Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the third of three interconnected ficlets written for [](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/profile)[**wordsontongue**](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/)'s 2009 Flash Fiction Roulette. The first story is _[0: Simple Past](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/422287.html)_ , and second, _[10: Present Progressive](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/425483.html)_. While linked and spaced over ten year increments, each ficlet can be comfortably read as a standalone narrative as well. (Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/13034.html).)

**Prompt:**

When Sean arrives at the pub, tugs open the door, a wave of warmth will roll over him, the heat only partially from the candles that are kept lit almost all day, and mostly from the warmth of memories he's made there.

Viggo will be late, as usual, or "Early for tomorrow," as he prefers, and so Sean will sit down in their corner, absently noting the creaking joints of his chair, wondering for the thousandth time whether he should offer to fix it once and for all, or appreciate it for its age, the way it's lasted this long. He will open his mouth to order himself a pot of good old English tea, and one of Viggo's maté -- a strange concession made by the pub owners to a good customer -- but will never quite get the chance to get the words fully out before the waitress makes her way over, tray already full with the requisite items.

And there Sean will sit, breathing in the atmosphere, old wood and fresh flowers, and maybe he'll pull out his sketchbook and glasses and spend a little time considering changing their garden layout, or tweaking the specs for his next metalwork sculpture, or simply doodling tiny pianos in the margins. No matter what he does, however, he will lift his head a moment before the door opens, as if already certain who is on the other side, and maybe he is, because Viggo will wander in, arms full of books or papers or plans or nothing at all, making a beeline for their table, and plopping himself down across from Sean.

They'll grin at each other for a long moment, Sean nudging the maté closer to Viggo's hands, and Viggo deliberately ignoring his drink in favour of reaching out and brushing his fingertips across the back of Sean's hand. Viggo's stomach will growl, and Sean will chuckle and ask him when he ate last, and Viggo will shake his head and protest that he doesn't remember.

And despite the fact that he already knows the short menu by heart, that they almost always place the very same order, Sean will don the glasses he put aside at Viggo's entrance, pick up the sheet of specials and peruse it, holding it slightly at a distance to keep it in focus; at least until Viggo plucks it out of his fingers and reminds him that the specials are never any good anyway.

"I ran into Gina today," Sean will say, after they've placed their order, and at Viggo's raised eyebrow, he'll smile and add, "She's finally married that producer bloke of hers, now that they've two little ones. She seemed good. Happy. And she told me to tell you hello."

Viggo will nod. "Good. It's about time she made him an honest man." And then he will chuckle and pat Sean's hand, tracing his knuckles even as he pulls back. "Just like I've made you one."

Sean will shake his head and grin, sliding his foot across the floor between them, bridging the space, resting instep against instep, and their conversation will fall into an easy rhythm, joy undulled by familiarity, interest undiminished by the passage of time.

They'll pass the last hours of the afternoon this way, soft words punctuated by softer touches, lost to all but their own world. And maybe a few other patrons -- new to the area, or just passing through -- will eye their table and whisper just loud enough for Sean to hear them wonder if the men sitting close in the corner, a few more lines on their faces, more silver in stubble and hair, are really who they seem to have once been.

When the light has lengthened, the candles flickering upward to take up the dying sun's slack, and when the plates and glasses are empty, but their bellies are full, Sean will pay the cheque, tossing a few bills on the table, letting them fan out messily. Viggo will get up, pushing his chair back so it scrapes gently across the floor, and he'll straighten his shirt, smooth back his hair, and offer Sean a hand up like the perfect gentleman he isn't.

Once Sean's on his feet and set to rights, he'll chuckle fondly, reaching out for Viggo's books or papers or plans or simply his hands, and with a quiet, "Goodnight," to their waitress, the barman, and a few other regulars, they'll wander out into the deepening night. Viggo will break from Sean only long enough to retrieve his bicycle, and while Sean unlocks the car, finding a place for books, papers, and plans, Viggo will load his bike in the back, slide into his seat, and buckle himself in firmly. The motor will purr to life, covering Sean's own purr as Viggo leans over, gifting him with a kiss.

And tomorrow, when the sun is back in the sky, they'll do it all over again.


End file.
